


No substitute

by flowerdeluce



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Episode: s05e07-08 Unification Parts 1-2, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-13 03:24:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18023840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerdeluce/pseuds/flowerdeluce
Summary: After the mission on Romulus, Data considers why he had difficulty looking at Commander Sela.Set following the events of Unification II.





	No substitute

Captain Picard described Tasha’s half-Romulan daughter as the spitting image of her mother. After familiarising himself with the informal phrasing, meaning doppelganger or double, Data concluded that he doubted the description. He had similar difficulty trusting counselor Troi’s account that Sela’s maternal similarity was ‘spooky’. He would never accuse the captain or the counselor of lying, of course; humans had a way of seeing people in the faces of others. Take Chief O’Brien for instance. From the moment of his daughter’s birth, many crewmembers remarked on Molly’s exact likeness to her father. Data did not agree but refrained from mentioning it. 

In Romulus’ caves, Data saw the startling truth of Picard’s words: it was hard to believe the Romulan brandishing a disruptor with all the pride of a warrior was not Lieutenant Tasha Yar. It was difficult to look at her, too, though Data could not grasp why, so put his discomfort aside and focused on the mission. 

Back in the safety of his quarters, the pale light of his personal station lighting his face while he wrote his mission report, Data found a moment to address why he had difficulty looking at Commander Sela. 

While Sela’s similarities to her mother were, to borrow Troi’s terminology, spooky, Data was aware she was a distinct person, just like Ishara Yar. Her personality and mannerisms did not reflect her mother’s. Her voice was marginally lower. She wore a different uniform. The heat signature of her body differed. Why then, did he register high levels of discomfort when looking at her? 

Closing his eyes to reduce visual distractions, Data accessed his mnemonic network. Following Tasha’s death, he had stored most of his memories of her—verbatim conversations, visual recordings, facts collected during their friendship such as her preferred foods and commonly-used phrases—in a deeply nested location. Not hidden. If he chose to access them, he would. When the memories had occurred organically, while looking at Tasha’s favorite table in Ten Forward or passing the door to what was once her quarters, he found himself visualizing her momentarily or forgetting his intended destination. It was more efficient to move those records out of easy access. There were occasions when he could not help lapses. Those he dealt with when they occurred.

He accessed a memory engram. The scene was vivid, immersive and as lived, like he was back in the moment again. Tasha brushed her teeth at the sink in her quarters, body blocking her reflection in the mirror as he approached. 

She spat into the basin and filled a glass to rinse. “Have you ever brushed your teeth, Data?” Her tone was soft, relaxed.

“I have not,” Data said in the memory. Back in his quarters, his lips moved fractionally with his past words. “Owing to the antibacterial quality of my fluidic systems, I have no reason to do so.” 

He surveyed the lieutenant’s back: the textured cotton weave of her vest, the curve of her bare shoulders, the gentle curl of the short, blonde hairs at her nape. When she turned to him, smiling, Data opened his eyes. His console’s glare greeted him, reminded of his physical location: alone, and, despite his perfect memory record, unable to experience Tasha’s smile in person again. 

Data understood human mortality. It was a notable concern whenever a torpedo broke the ship’s shields, when he passed sickbay, when he had carried Tasha’s limp body from the transporter pad to the biobed upon which she was pronounced dead. Until Sela, he had never considered his memories of Tasha… insufficient. But memory records could not replace Tasha’s company. He would never hear her laugh again, watch her sleep, feel her gaze burn into his back from her spot at the tactical station, smell her scent, hold her hand. Witnessing Sela walking, talking, doing things her mother could no longer do, had only intensified Tasha’s absence. And it felt unfair, somehow.

While incapable of grieving, Data suspected humans experienced similar feelings of loss when viewing imagery of deceased loved ones; possessing the images was agreeable—he knew many species cherished photographs, holograms, video recordings and the like—but it was not without discomfort to view them, aware they were no substitute for flesh and bone, personality, the warmth and presence of the person themselves. 

He revisited the memory, aware of how fortunate he was that he could. It began from the moment he had left it.

Tasha smiled, taking Data’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.” The mint scent of her toothpaste cooled her breath against his face.

“I have duties to perform this evening. However, I consider wishing you goodnight of higher importance to those I am currently pursuing.” 

Data hadn’t noticed her cheeks flushing a subtle shade deeper before. He did now, while truly examining every inch of her face.

“So, you’re not staying?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot.” If he had the chance again, he would have stayed. Was that regret? “I have commitments within the hour.” 

Tasha draped an arm over his shoulder, pulled him closer with a soft palm at his nape. “Shame.” The dimmed light sparkled in her eyes as she leaned in and pressed her nose to his temple. She led his hand to her waist, encouraging him to hold her.

“Do you desire a kiss?” He had hoped she would. There was something about kissing Tasha that made Data more enthused about… well, everything. 

“I do.” 

When their lips touched in the memory, Data touched his mouth in his seat, imagined the gentle pressure he exerted upon them originated from Tasha’s warm lips and not his own cold fingertips.

“Goodnight, Data.” Her fingers trailed through his hair, down the side of his throat and along the edge of his uniform collar. The sensation comforted him, then and now.

Data opened his eyes in his chair, though he was not looking at anything. “Goodnight, Tasha.” 

Filing the memory away again, he returned to his work.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Insufficient data (The "No Substitute" Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20462816) by [Syrena_of_the_lake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/pseuds/Syrena_of_the_lake)




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